


Deep As The Sea Goes: Cellist Part 2

by desperationandgin



Series: The Cellist [2]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Canon Divergent, F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 10:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22494871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desperationandgin/pseuds/desperationandgin
Summary: Nothing but happiness. Happiness and smut.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Series: The Cellist [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578169
Comments: 59
Kudos: 236





	Deep As The Sea Goes: Cellist Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to all the people who read my fic first and help make it perfect for posting ♥

Drunk isn’t _quite_ what Claire would consider herself. She isn’t as innocent as _tipsy_ , either. She’s somewhere in between; nicely buzzed, a little faster to laugh, _most assuredly_ handsier. As Jamie ( _who’s as inebriated as she is_ ) guides her around the corner to her flat, an idea occurs to her that never has on any previous walk in the past month. It’s dark; he’s strong, she’s safe, and there’s a small dead-end lined with recycling bins just around the corner from her building. The fact that it’s only 8 degrees outside does little to dissuade her once the idea comes to fruition.

The alley is deep enough that the long shadows of night would mask any activity, and with a wicked grin, she pauses right there on the sidewalk, looking up at her ( _as shouted earlier in introduction for the first time in a crowded pub_ ) boyfriend.

“I already ken that look in yer eye,” Jamie comments in recognition, raising a curious brow. When she begins to tug at his hand, he realizes _where_ she’s tugging him, and now both eyebrows are in on the action.

“Yer flat is _right there_ , I can see it.” When she pouts, her bottom lip juts out in a way that begs to be kissed, and his already meager resolve wavers. In order to have his kiss, he has to follow her, like a seaman lured in by a Siren.

“My flat will be there afterward, too,” she offers coyly.

“So, ye’re sayin’ ye have plans for me?” he queries, even as her back presses against brick and his fingers push up the hem of her skirt, blunt nails grazing her skin in a feather-light, goosebump-inducing touch.

Her own fingers, skilled and nimble, make fast work of his jeans, hand in his boxer-briefs with a satisfied sigh at finding him hard and willing. “I’ve had _plans_ for you since the night of the fundraiser,” she mumbles into his mouth, loosely stroking him as they attempt an inelegant kiss. By the time his hand slips between her thighs, a leg has hooked itself high on his hip, and she lets her hand fall away from him with a keening moan.

“Shhh, _a nighean_ ,” he mutters, pushing flimsy fabric aside. His index finger finds her slick enough to drag the moisture back up and press slow but firm circles to that round bundle of nerves. He’s telling her to be quiet, even knowing she isn’t fully capable of it. All of Scotland might very well know what’s happening in this alleyway tonight. Two of his fingers curl into her now, moving in a beckoning motion, coaxing her climax closer to the edge.

What he doesn’t expect is her push at his shoulder, and he stops, blinking in a stupor. “What—?” The one-word question is breathless and concerned, but not for long.

Shoving his jeans and underwear down just enough, her hand grasps his cock by the root before stroking upward. Her mouth swallows his groan, and then they’re working together to get her balanced between the brick and his body. The moment she knows he has her secure, she meets his gaze, her own unwavering.

“I want you now, Jamie. And don’t be gentle,” she gasps, crushing her lips to his as soon as the words are out of her mouth.

He’d be a damned man to say no to _that_.

It’s all the acknowledgment Jamie needs as he guides himself to her, teasing first by dragging the tip of himself over the slick heat of her, wondering how long either of them could try to hold out.

“Don’t,” she whines, heels digging into his lower back. “Don’t tease, Jamie, not out here.”

She’s right, for more than one reason to be sure, so he presses into her slowly. He watches himself disappear inside of her, and once he’s buried, feels one hand on the back of his head, tugging at curls to get him to look at her.

The only sound in the alley is the sound of _them_ , coming together in a punishing rhythm. His eyes, narrowed to slits, are still focused on her in the dim light. He can tell that her lips are parted, plump and still damp from their kiss. The lone, dim streetlamp is enough to catch the way her forehead knits as her pleasure mounts its peak. She begins to tighten around him, and the immediate warmth is enough to make his hips stutter out of rhythm.

“Oh, Christ. Oh, _Claire_.”

There’s nothing but encouragement from her; feeling him, the warmth of him spilling inside of her is enough. She doesn’t stop her assault, and when he buries his face against her neck, her fingers tangle in his hair. He comes, and she sees bursts of brilliant color behind closed eyelids as her pleasure turns everything into pinpricks of sensation. 

The slight breeze against sweat-cooled skin makes her shiver, unaware of how much time has passed by the time she can open her eyes again.

He comes back to reality quicker than she does, aware of the chill and the fact that they could still be chanced upon by someone.

“Jesus Christ, ‘tis January in the middle of the night and ye’re in a _skirt_.”

His abrupt statement makes her laugh, loudly and uncaring of who might hear. When her legs feel stronger than Jell-O, Claire lowers herself, admitting aloud that the loss of him causes the cold to cut a bit deeper.

“I’m sure you have ideas on how to warm me up,” she suggests, carefully tucking him back into his jeans and zipping him.

Jamie grunts, finally taking a chance and looking around, not noticing any unwanted attention. “I’ve one or two, perhaps. Why? Did ye have one of yer own?”

Her hand reaches for his as they finally step back onto the more brightly lit sidewalk. “I was thinking a warm shower for two wouldn’t be so bad.” She needs it now, realizing the lack of a space to clean up was a ( _definite but perhaps trivial_ ) downside to outdoor sex.

He lets her walk ahead, no more than twenty paces to the front steps, admiring her from behind for a moment before joining her. “No, I dinnae think that would be too terrible,” he agrees, arms wrapping around her from behind as she unlocks the door.

Grinning, she lets them inside, Sesh at the ready to greet them. Rubbing against Claire first, then Jamie, she decides she doesn’t care to visit much, giving a soft meow before trotting off toward the living room.

“She doesna like me, I’m tellin’ ye.”

Laughing, Claire uses him for balance as she reaches down to remove first one heel, then the other. “She _does_. Sesheshet’s just a little...anxiety prone when more than one person’s around. She’ll get used to you.”

Once she’s steady on her feet again, he follows her to the bedroom, already intimately familiar with the path. She lives closer to the station than he does, and so they’d come to an arrangement, not two weeks in: a key to her home securely on a keychain next to his. Falling into her bed after his longer stretches of work feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“Ye never did tell me, what does her name mean?” 

Flipping on the light in her bedroom reveals things to be neat and orderly; a bit scant on decoration, but obviously her refuge; blankets are piled in a basket near the nightstand, and a deep reading chair sits in the corner near the window with pillows on the floor nearby. Claire disappears into the bathroom, raising her voice to be heard. 

“Sesheshet was the mother of a Pharaoh, King Teti. My uncle discovered her pyramid in 2008.” He hears her turn on the shower so that the water can have time to warm. When she returns to the bedroom, she pulls her shirt over her head, draping it across the back of a chair. “He died before her sarcophagus was found, so he never did get to see her.”

Jamie reaches out, still learning the odd bits and pieces of her life. Drawing her close, he kisses her wrist before reaching around and unhooking her bra.

“Were ye with him at the site?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck now. One arm loops around her waist, drawing her close.

“Until it was too much for him to be there.”

The lung cancer had been swift and fierce, and Claire sighs softly, kissing Jamie’s shoulder. “And that is how Sesh got her fancy name.”

He can sense the need for a change in subject. Jamie knows the topic of her uncle is still a raw wound, even twelve years later. Lamb had helped raise her, a brother doing his duty by stepping up and helping his sister-in-law. His death had left Claire bereft; it had been quick on the heels of her mother’s. Instead of pushing the subject further, Jamie’s hands tangle in her hair as he kisses her briefly, then pulls back.

“A verra fancy name for a cat who indelicately licks her arsehole right in front of me while I’m eating,” Jamie notes. “She’s done it twice now, so ye cannae tell me it isna personal.”

Barking out a laugh, Claire moves back so they can both finish undressing, then steps into the warmth of the shower.

“You’ll just have to be here more often, I suppose,” she decides, standing directly under the water with her back to Jamie’s chest.

“Oh? Is that an invitation, Sassenach?” His nose drags slowly along the shell of her ear, but when she goes still and doesn’t say anything, he’s sure he’s misstepped, pushed her too fast, too soon.

“Would you accept if it had been?” Turning to face him, she studies Jamie intently, aware that his features never betray what he’s thinking, but attempting to puzzle him out anyway.

“Aye, I would, wi’ out a moment’s hesitation,” he assures her, leaving no room for doubt. “But ye’d have to tell me it’s what ye want, Claire.” He traces his thumb over her bottom lip, humming when she presses a kiss to the pad.

Reaching out, she trails one finger idly down his chest, her gaze focused there now. “You already have a key, on account of my being impatient to see you.” There are days she very much enjoys seven a.m. Lately, he’s been showering at the station, letting himself into her flat, and crawling into bed with her, curling his body around hers. Most of those mornings they make love, lazily and half-asleep, but too eager for one another to wait any longer.

“Is it too soon?” The moment she asks, she knows his answer. Jamie is anything but subtle in his want for her to be near, as often as possible.

“ _A nighean_ , I would have moved in wi’ ye on Christmas Day if you’d’ve had me. Though, there’s something ye should ken before ye decide anything,” he murmurs, moving his hands to her hips and turning her so that her back is against the shower wall.

A knot of arousal coils in her stomach, able to feel the intent of his movements in every tightly wound muscle of his body. “What?” Her voice sounds slightly hoarse and she clears her throat, wetting her lips. 

Slipping a hand between her thighs, Jamie slowly grazes the tip of one finger around still-tender nerves. When she whimpers, it cuts through him like a knife and goes straight to his cock.

“My own rental agreement ends on the fifth of March. Didna renew it on the chance this would happen.”

Her eyes, which had previously fallen closed at his touch, snap open in surprise. “You knew I would ask you to move in with me?”

Jamie chuckles, kissing her softly before deciding her neck is just as deserving of his lips.

“No, but I hoped. Truthfully, I’ve wanted to move out of that area for a while. Lacked the proper motivation, ye ken.”

Claire’s head tilts, her eyes closing once more. “And now? Where would you say your motivation ranks?”

For a moment, he’s too busy calling up a mark just under her neck before soothing it with his tongue, soaking up her whimper as both hands slide up her body to cup her breasts. The soft, slick skin of her is irresistible, and he can’t help ducking his head further to drag his lips along the curve of her shoulder

“I’ll be moved in by tomorrow evenin’, if ye’ll have me, Sassenach.” 

Her response is immediate and breathless, a gasped _I’ll have you_ just before his left hand disappears again between her thighs. She’s already decided that he can lay claim to her body any time he wants, and she’s not sure she would ever find it in herself to deny him. He can build her up, bring her to the precipice so exquisitely fast, or draw out her pleasure until she begs. Claire never feels as though she’s _breathing_ when he’s intent on undoing her, can never find a single thought.

It’s no different now as his fingers work her over as if he’s known her body for millennia; a countless amount of lifetimes to learn every intimate part of her. With her fingers scrambling over the scarred terrain of his back, she finally finds her grip and holds on, digging into his shoulders with her fingernails before easing off as pleasure prickles up and down her spine. Head falling back against the tile, Claire pushes her hips into his hand, greedily seeking more even as the pleasure leaves her gasping.

She doesn’t realize he’s moved until his mouth is right beside her ear. His fingers have mostly stopped, his thumb just lightly grazing nerves that are taut with stimulation. 

“I mean to belong to ye. To have ye keep my heart beside yours.” His thumb circles faster, words more intent. “And I’ll possess yer soul, Sassenach, to carry wi’ me, always.” On the heels of one climax comes another, and as she cries out, his eyes rake over her face, taking in the blush of her cheeks and the specific way her lips part when she’s struggling for breath. He can’t resist pressing his mouth to hers, breathing her in before wrapping both arms fully around her.

They stand like that, a lover’s embrace mid-shower, until Claire finally reaches for the soap and lazily lathers her hands, washing him before taking her turn. They say nothing to one another, stealing soft kisses, touching leisurely until their fingertips are shriveled. Jamie simply steps out once the water is off and holds out a towel for her, wrapping her up and kissing her forehead for his service. The pleasant buzz of the evening has worn off into an even more pleasant sleepiness, and once suitably dry, they tumble into bed, no need for clothing.

“Ye introduced me as yer boyfriend to yer friends,” Jamie finally says, breaking the comfortable silence.

Claire tilts her head up to look at him with an amused smirk. “That’s what you are, aren’t you?”

“Aye, just that it sounds so….”

“Grade school?”

He chuckles, rolling against her side and nudging against the side of her breast. “I verra much enjoy bein’ yer boyfriend, Sassenach. Would ye go to the dance wi’ me?”

Claire laughs, hitting his shoulder before being pulled into a kiss. “How could I have resisted?” she asks into his mouth before humming at the feel of his hips slowly rolling against hers. One leg settles over his to accommodate, both of them shifting closer, foreheads touching.

“What is it between us?” she asks quietly, closing her eyes as her hips pick up his rhythm, rocking back and forth. “Why is it so easy?”

“That’s the way it is,” Jamie begins, reaching down to guide himself into her with a soft groan. For a few heartbeats, he stays exactly the way he is, not moving except to speak. “When two people are meant to be wi’ one another, well. Love becomes an easy thing, then.” He finishes his statement with a kiss, one hand disappearing into her hair.

With her fingers dragging along Jamie’s cheek, Claire meets his gaze, feeling the truth settle over her at the same time any guilt about loving again dissipates.

“It’s never been this easy before.”

Jamie realizes what she’s said and takes her words, tucking them carefully beside his heart. Carefully, he pushes her to her back, leaning down as far as he can without crushing her.

“I promise to never make it difficult for ye, Claire,” he whispers, lips trailing along the long line of her throat. “I’ll only love ye and no’ ask for anything in return.”

She’s too breathless to speak, every thrust eliciting a sharp cry as her back arches. But when she manages to open her eyes, she finds his gaze and holds it until she can’t.

This time when she shatters, he comes with her, panting against her cheek as he spills. It’s too much to hold himself up, so he drops to the side, pulling her — still gasping — right on top of him. His arms wrap around her body tightly, shaking, hot, but unwilling to be parted from her. As his fingers take a short trail up and down her shoulder, he finds a small scar from the accident, the pad of his finger making a home there, drawing soft circles. When he can’t stand it anymore, he leans up to press his lips against the mark, as if to make it disappear.

Claire burrows closely against him, in no rush to lose the warmth of the moment, either. Her own hands aren’t idle; she drags the back of one slowly up his body with all the patience of drawing out a long, low note on a cello string. She feels his shiver and finishes with her fingers buried in his curls. 

Drifting, she’s lulled by his knuckles raking slowly up and down her spine, focused on the sound of his heart beating. It’s strong and sure, and she raises her head just enough to press a delicate kiss against his chest. When his fingers tug gently at the hair behind her ear, she scoots up until her mouth meets his. Tongues unhurriedly glide over one another, and they eventually reposition themselves so that he can hold her while they sleep.

“Tonight was a good night,” she murmurs, eyes closed with one arm splayed across him.

Jamie makes a noise low in the back of his throat, one that means he agrees, as his arms tighten around her.

“One of many nights I intend to have wi’ ye.”

Exhaling, Claire manages to mumble a few final words before succumbing to sleep.

“I’m holding you to that, Jamie.”

Once she relaxes into sleep, he lets his lips graze her forehead, breathing in the smell of her shampoo, her tea tree oil-infused body wash, and a hint of jasmine beneath it all. His heart feels too big for his chest and not big enough to be worthy of her at the same time.

Christ, he loves this woman.

His last thought as his mind shuts down is that he’ll be proposing to her by the end of the year.

_October_.

Jamie smiles in his sleep, drifting off to the promise of his future, held secure in his arms.


End file.
